Seven Years Bad Luck
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Sequel to "The Mirror." After the truth comes out about Kiefer, Kristina asks her mother a question she isn't prepared to answer. Please R&R!


Seven Years Bad Luck

"No matter what you did, it's not your fault that Kiefer hit you."

Alexis had been saying those words to her daughter, or some variation of them, from the minute Kristina had finally told the truth. She tried to focus on her daughter and bury her own turmoil – her rage, her fear, her sorrow, her confusion, and most of all, her guilt – the shock that her actions (and inactions) caused the death of another human being, even if it was the monster who did this to her precious little girl. This wasn't like when she had killed Luis Alcazar. She hadn't felt guilty about that, only afraid that no one would believe the truth.

She had gone to his hotel room to confront him, railed at him in some misguided attempt to empower herself, and he had struck her, sending her to the floor. She had grabbed a knife from the floor to defend herself, and then he had dragged her to the balcony, threatening to throw her over. She'd slashed at him, wildly, trying to escape. Somehow she'd twisted out of his grasp, but he came at her again, and unwittingly impaled himself on the knife. She'd pushed him away, and he'd tumbled to his death. She knew it was self-defense, even if no one else did. The only reason she ever felt any guilt was because someone else had to stand trial for his death.

But this time … this time was different. Rushing her daughter to the hospital after finding her beaten for a second time, her mind and heart racing, her vision blurring with tears – honestly, she hadn't even been able to realize or process what she'd done until she saw him there, lying in a hospital bed as the doctors made their futile efforts to save his life. Before that, part of her had still been clinging to the hope that she'd somehow imagined it all, that it hadn't really happened. But it had. And now that Kiefer was dead, his parents were out for blood.

Let them take it from her, then. Let them _try_ and take it. Let them slander her, harass her, even imprison her if it came to that. But not Kristina. Warren Bauer could unleash his rage on her all he wanted, but she would not allow him to hurt her already wounded daughter. And she would not allow Kiefer to hurt Kristina from beyond the grave.

At first, Alexis was relieved that Kristina didn't blame her for Kiefer's death. She didn't question that it was what it was – a terrible accident. As time passed, however, Alexis found herself almost wishing that Kristina _did_ blame her, because anything was better than her daughter blaming herself. And she blamed herself for everything: for Kiefer hurting her in the first place, for his death, for the Bauers' fury, for all of it. Much as she loved her daughter, she was baffled by the way she defended her abuser.

"I made him mad, it was my fault."

"He said he was sorry. He always said he was sorry."

These words, or some variation of them, seemed to become her rote responses to Alexis' own mantra that Kristina was neither responsible for nor deserving of the violence Kiefer had visited upon her. But after she had taken Kristina to see Nikolas and Spencer, she'd seemed a little less upset, so when they got home, as she helped her daughter into bed, Alexis had gently tried to broach the subject a different way.

"Kristina, you remember how upset you were when you thought your dad might have hit me?"

Her daughter nodded. "You told me he never did."

"Yes, and that's the truth. He never did. And if he had, he would have been wrong. Just like Kiefer was wrong for what he did to you."

"But I made him –"

"For god's sake Kristina, you have got to stop blaming yourself!" Alexis took a deep breath and lowered her voice, attempting to speak more calmly. "I don't care what you did or how mad you made him, he _never _had the right to put his hands on you. I wish I could make you understand that on my own, but I guess I can't. And that's why you have to keep seeing Dr. Winters, alright?"

Kristina sighed, but didn't argue. She looked as weary and bone-tired as Alexis felt. She didn't know what else to say to her daughter, how else she could help her in this moment. So she simply pressed a kiss to her forehead, told her they'd talk more in the morning, and asked her to try not to worry. Then she bid her goodnight. She was at the door of Kristina's room when her daughter's voice made her turn back.

"Mom?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"So … I know that … Dad never hit you, but … what about Daddy Ri- I mean, Uncle Ric?"

Alexis hoped the pain and sadness didn't show on her face. In earlier years and happier times, Ric had been more of a father to Kristina than Sonny had; the two had had a close relationship, and Ric had loved her like his own. At least, at the time, she'd believed he did. Now she wondered if that had ever been true, and poor Kristina was probably forced to wonder the same thing. Even so, that wasn't what she was asking about. And at least this was a question Alexis knew could answer with absolute truthfulness and certainty.

"You're asking if Ric ever hit me? No honey, of course not. Ric made a lot of bad choices, but he never would've hurt me that way." Kristina nodded slightly, seeming relieved. Alexis looked down for a moment, and noticed her daughter's hand-held mirror on the floor by her bed. Reflexively, she bent down to pick it up, not noticing her daughter's tense manner and pensive expression, so that, as she was moving to place the mirror on her bureau, she had no inclination of and no warning against the innocent but explosive question that came next.

"What about Sam's dad?"

Alexis dropped the mirror onto the wood-paneled floor. It shouldn't have, but somehow, it managed to shatter into pieces, the slivers and shards illuminated by the moonlight. Kristina gasped, but her mother just stood there, mutely, as if frozen to the spot. Only when Kristina started to get out of bed did she seem to snap out of it.

"No!" she said, so sharply that her daughter flinched at her the sound. Alexis took a deep breath, and continued in a softer tone. "The shards are everywhere and you're barefoot. I don't want you to cut yourself. Stay in bed, I'll go get the dust pan, alright?" Kristina was too startled by her mother's demeanor to do anything but nod and comply. Alexis quickly retrieved the dust pan and came back a few moments later. She flicked on the light. She locked eyes with her daughter for an instant, and then quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, crouching down to gather on the broken shards into the pan. Kristina followed her mother's movements, noticing that her hands were shaking as she swept up the pieces. She kept looking around the whole room to make sure she hadn't missed anything, rhythmically sweeping in even after it seemed to Kristina that she could have not possibly missed even the smallest sliver of the shattered mirror. Kristina felt a wave of panic slowly begin to engulf her.

"Mom? I think you got it all…"

"Oops," her mother spoke in a strange voice, one that was as shaky as her hands. Then she cleared her throat and began to sound more like herself again. She discarded the shards in the waste bin and stood up.

"Sorry about that honey, I didn't mean to startle you. I guess your mother's just a little clumsy tonight, huh? But no harm done." Kristina nodded, following her mother's lead and trying to pretend what had just happened was normal.

"Maybe you're just tired," she ventured softly, although she noticed that her mother still couldn't quite meet her gaze. "Maybe you should go to bed too." Her mother smiled tightly.

"That's a good idea, sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well." But this time she did not kiss her daughter good night. She simply turned and walked out of the room. Kristina stared after her, her eyes filling with tears, cursing herself for asking the question, a question it was now obvious to her that he mother could not and would not answer.

Alexis put the dust bin back in its place. She went into the bathroom, closed the door tight behind her, and put her face in her hands, willing herself to breath slowly and deeply. She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, too late realizing her mistake as she faced the mirror.

She was not alone.

The demonic face of a black-haired teenage boy, now a man long dead, leered at her from the bathroom mirror, and her own reflection morphed into the image of her nine-year-old self, terrified and trembling.

"_No harm done, little mouse? Don't you know that breaking a mirror brings _at least_ seven years bad luck?"_

"_What do I need to worry about bad luck for, Stavros? You and Helena already make my life a living hell!"_

_He slammed her face into the already cracked mirror._ "**Why** _would you make me so angry, Alexis? Do you __**want **__me to show you how much worse it can get?"_

"_No, no, no, Stavros, I'm sorry, no, please, stop it – NO!"_

She staggered away from the mirror until her back hit the bathroom wall. She sunk down onto the floor, put her head down, and sobbed. He had been right. Her misfortune had lasted for seven years, and beyond. Bu the day he had "died," she had considered the curse of the mirror at an end, and she had willed herself, she thought, to stop believing in such superstitions.

But now? Now she wasn't so sure. He great protector and comforter was as good as gone. She could no longer curl into Stefan's embrace while he wiped away all of her tears and put her shattered pieces back together. It was her turn now, her responsibility, to fight the curses, to do the mending of spirit for someone else: for her daughter, Kristina. But she was failing; in fact, she'd only served to further upset her already traumatized daughter just now, and she didn't know how to fix it.

How long would the bad luck last this time?

As if in answer, she suddenly recalled Stefan's words from long ago, echoing in her head.

"_Stavros is dead, Alexis."_

"_Are you certain?"_

"_I am certain. I was there and I saw him die myself. And my mother has been reduced to a mere shell by the news … don't you see, Alexis? It's over now! All the monsters and the curses and the superstitions – we can leave them all behind! We can make our own lives. We can make our own luck."_

Alexis smiled through her tears. "We can make our luck," she repeated in a whisper. She pulled herself up off the floor, determined now, resolved on a course of action. It was time to admit she needed help. It was time to call in the favor she'd been holding on to for _at least_ seven years.

Alexis walked back into the living room and dialed the number she'd memorized long ago. When she heard his voice on the other end of the line, unmistakable, she gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles went white. Her mouth went dry, her heart pounded in her chest, and it was a long, endless minute before she was able to speak.

"Stefan?"

Halfway around the world, he sat straight up in bed, immediately awake and alert. "Alexis? Is it really you after all the years, little one?"

_Little one._ He hadn't called her that since … Alexis swallowed, trying to rid herself of the sudden lump in her throat. "Yes, it's me," she said, her voice deep and brusque with unshed tears. "Stefan, I need you. I need your help." And as she poured her heart out to him, even though it was foolish, she couldn't help but feel that her seven years bad luck, if you could call it that, was about to come to a long overdue end.


End file.
